


just guys being dudes, dudes being gay.

by hughes_sheldrake



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, TwitchRP
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Short One Shot, TwitchRP - Freeform, idk what that is, professional sounding writing that doesnt read out like a dudo bro conversation?, sorry folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hughes_sheldrake/pseuds/hughes_sheldrake
Summary: collections of unfinished things
Relationships: Jerry the Breaker/Ken Tucky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. when youre both convicted felons and youre also both gay (well he's actually bisexual but you get the point)

**Author's Note:**

> yknow, i write a lot i swear to fuck but i never finish cuz my brain's incompetent. monkey brain writes for hours and never finishes. a truly devastating fate. some kenjerry stuff i've written and had sitting around for quite a while. i dont think ill finish them but i did like rereading them for what they were!  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poggers

As far as Jerry understood, he and Ken were friends... if that's what you'd call their very peculiar relationship. It wasn't the handholding that the both often found themselves doing - no, that was a bro thing. Donnie Danger was nice enough to clear this up one night on the roof of their next unfortunate bank.   
"No bro, listen. If you hold hands with a guy, it's not gay. If - If, like, girls can do it, then so can you. The whole idea that y'know, you can't uhhh, hold hands with a guy friend is fucking stupid. It's really not a problem."  
"Yesterday when he was leaving he gave me a hug and kissed my neck for at least 4 seconds."  
  
The dumbbell in Donnie's grip fell to the floor with a loud thump. Donnie screamed. Jerry screamed. The police, who had watched the boy drama unfold from the sidewalk, screamed. A Mr. Schwimmer screamed but not for the same reason, explaining in detail the "reluctant" bet he and Fingle placed on this very situation happening which would leave him several thousands in debt.  
  
On second thought, maybe it wasn't as platonic as once perceived.

Jerry is sitting in the car alone and waiting for Dan-Dan to leave the drug store when he understands this to its fullest extent. If Jerry hears a man screaming and several ear-piercing gunshots, he ignores it and closes his eyes wistfully. Jerry was a gay man, something he wasn't ashamed to admit but a topic he didn't understand well. Women were great but for Jerry, well, they were friends if anything. Anything else and he'd be on his land strand of sanity. Carter? Female Carter, specifically? _Never again._ Killing a woman's boyfriend or not, that was not his responsibility to uphold. 

And christ... don't get him started on the complexities of affection - that was a whole other ballpark. It was way easier to beat a police officer to death with a bat than show anyone affection. It was awkward, weird even. He understood the gestures and social cues but in practice, it never worked. The last time he tried to flirt he took it into his own hands, which of fucking course ended up with that man dying after receiving a severe whack on the head with a bat. It was a joke, it was just a fucking joke but _no_ , he just had to die. **ONE WHACK.** How can people be so fucking fragile? He swears he's absolutely battered Ken more than once and that man's fine! He lands on his cranium and survives for the love of fuck! So perhaps that's why affection never came easy, maybe, maybe not. 

Several homicides aside, something was awry inside of him. For once, killing wasn't the only thing on his mind - don't get too cocky, killing was always #1 - but this was Ken Tucky, a man he'd met a year ago and yet he wanted to hold him closer than anyone else. He can't count how many times they've woken up in the same cluttered bed with armor off save for the mask, Ken's stupid unsleeved shirts tossed haphazardly to the side, legs intertwined in a mess of sheets, a mess of unspoken words between the two. He can't count how many times he's wanted to kiss him.

  
Spoiler, it's currently 1,502 times and counting.


	2. angsty kenjerry hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fingle, jerry, and ken are not okay.
> 
> dan dan is happily eating raw fish somewhere right now, bless that man's heart. love that little guy.

A once wise man told him that life consisted of three pillars of truth: fuck taxes, fuck the police, and fuck that no-good, backstabbing, rear-licking, gob-snapping son of a gun Ken Tucky. That man being Fingle Dan, he'd taken the last point with the smallest grain of salt and told the old man to eat shit but now he's hanging out in the backseat of their scuffed Sand King XL sobbing under his breath because of it. The car flings across the sandy fields of Grand Senora in hasty jerks and turns; Jerry can do nothing but yelp whenever Fingle makes a sharp jump into the desert dunes.  
Fingle's non-chase driving is pitiful, but this is another whole degree of incoherent driving. Fingle is not happy with him.  
Jerry guesses it's the haunted expression on Fingle's face, something so foreign on a man praised for not giving a shit. He's bleeding too, his signature sweater is stained with the oppressive scent of sweat and blood - and piss - there is the distinct smell of piss and Jerry briefly thinks he pissed on himself but Fingle nor he mention it. They're terrified and shaking; piss is the least of their problems right now.  
"You're bleeding," Jerry inquires. It's not a question but he words it that way regardless. Fingle knows this, and laughs. There's no sincerity or enjoyment behind the gesture.

"Yeah pal, I wonder why." Jerry's head lowers in shame. Somehow, his piercing headache hurts close to nothing in comparison to the bitterness in Fingle's tone. He tries to speak but a sad whimper leaves Jerry’s throat instead. It's a very pathetic noise, almost like a wounded dog knowing he's going to be put down soon. The way Fingle's pistol is poking out from its holster makes it seem so.

"You don't listen to me Jerry, simple as that," Fingle's glaring through the rear-view mirror, "But you don't care because you love him right? You’re choosing me over some hillbilly you haven’t even known for a year. Is that right, yeah?"

"Look, I'm sorry... I misjudged the situation and I- I fucked it. I panicked really badly b-but it was nothing against you for fuck’s sake.”

"NO. SHUT UP – He… HE attacked me and you just stood there all pretty. YOU DIDN'T DO SHIT, BRO."

"CAN YOU LISTEN TO ME?” Jerry slams his boot into the back of Fingle’s seat angrily. “FUCKING LISTEN TO ME-"

"You’re ASKING me to put a bullet between your eyes. Yell at me again right now." His hands brush dangerously against the side of his revolver. It's an implicit threat that Fingle isn't joking. The man has taken humor too far countless times now, but Fingle’s gun is loaded and his isn’t. This is not an act. “No? You’re going quiet now? Exactly, exactly Jerry.”

Fingle steps on the brakes, swings around, and jabs his pistol into Jerry’s mask. This is how he dies. Jerry isn’t surprised.

"I could dump your body on Mount Chiliad and no one would ever find your fat ass, would serve you right for betraying me like he did. The Bitches are not falling apart again. I-I can't let it happen again, Jerry.”

"I... I guess I can understand that." Jerry's phone vibrates in his hand. Ken is texting him paragraphs after paragraphs yet he can't muster the courage to check them.

Only hours prior, Ken was trembling on the ground, crying for a god to answer him in the dirty parking lot in the middle of the fucking desert. Jerry likes to imagine he would have kneeled down and comforted the man in his panic, remind him to breathe and tell him nothing was going to happen. That it was okay to be afraid.  
But Fingle had a gun to Ken's head and he couldn’t drop down to greet the troubled man's eyes. He raised his pistol and trained it faintly over Ken's heaving chest. Ken was threatening to leave the group behind again and if Fingle was upset, so was he.  
...Right? He pretends it isn't Ken and he shoots.

One… two... three, three bullets opened fire outside Yellow Jack Bar and three bullets did not hit their intended target. Tremors filled his body. Everyone close to the scene watched as those bullets pierced the backend of a nearby dumpster, a far-off shot from where an immobile Ken cried. In that moment he could not feel his fingers shake through thick, Kevlar gloves. He could not comprehend the clattering of the gun as it slipped from his grasp and met the pavement. He could pretend the emotionally charged tirades of Fingle in his right ear were nothing more but another of his vivid hallucinations, a wild fantasy conjured up in the middle of the night when they're driving on the highway and Jerry's violent mind begs for a change of scenery. He doesn't care about the happy memories, he wants piles of corpses following behind him with every step he takes. Every breath and thought should be one in malice, of manslaughter, of screaming. He should want Ken's blood. But he couldn’t. He could not ignore the blood curdling wails of the man at his feet begging for Jerry to spare him. He couldn’t push away the memories of them lying together watching cheesy 80's horror films in their cabin while Fingle's out buying groceries and Dan-Dan's harassing local wildlife. There were no cops, no jail time, and no fall guy priorities. It was only Ken staring back at him with wildly passionate green eyes. That man was a fighter.

  
So, when Ken took advantage of his kindness and snaked his way into clutching a pocket knife from fuck knows where, he forgave him. He forgave his boyfriend for sealing his fate and leaving a deep red gash on the old man’s abdomen. Ken glanced at him before running off the opposite direction. The same look he’d given Jerry the first time they met, and when they were bothering that cop to play K-pop on her radio, and when Ken taught him bike-bell morse code, and that one time Ken got drunk and kissed his mask, and-and- and then he’s gone.

He’s gone just like that. He disappears into the afternoon desert, beneath the mirages and the sand.  
Had Jerry known this would be the last time he saw Ken, he would have ran behind his tail but he's stuck in the back of their car with a gun pressed against the temple of his head.  
His phone is still going off message after message and in some sort of plead for Jerry to stop thinking about him, Fingle pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ken's still wondering why jerry hasn't responded to his messages.


End file.
